I wrote a letter to my friend

I’ve had a hard time, really, in my personal life about all this. It’s like, if my friend told me she didn’t know if she was abused as a very young child, knowing her whole life had been extremely complicated because of these years that she spent living with a different family because her mother lied about her father being an abuser — I just wouldn’t have responded like most people. What I went through was indeed confusing, but still, I wouldn’t have acted like any of these people. Not at all. That’s been a difficult one to navigate. It took me years of utter agony to even vocalize that, and I felt shut down. No one really responded, like what I said was serious.

Like, my friend? I’m practically on a plane. And so I’ve had to make peace with no one really asking me anything about that even if, this friend, which I said, in particular checked in with me some years down the line. Years. Someone in my position might need a hand. I needed direct communication. So I say that because I went through a terrible ordeal, and I didn’t have anyone who was able to give me a hand.

That being said, multiple people shut me down literally, though they do not know the story, meaning, why I’m saying what I’m saying. So that was frustrating, and I got to a breaking point, because I got hit by a couple of friends, being”concerned” about some attempt to be funny on Instagram, just testing out material, on social media, but I can’t get a “how are you?” I found that to be confusing, as that guru told me to diffuse my story on social, and that caused me, once again, nothing but problems. That man didn’t understand.

And the thing is, I feel relieved though I’m sorry that my friend and I weren’t able to make it through this period. It’s like, are people not hearing what I’m saying? Why are you asking me what’s going on? And I suppose I could have just said, “you know, it’s like no one is hearing me.” I can’t deal with how people have reacted to all this. And I just feel better on my end, I dont feel worse.

I do really feel as though I just got here as a person. And I have literally no idea why I did anything I did. Like, did I need to get another family? And another family? No. So I said a lot of goodbyes, actually, which, to be honest, I’m not feeling that terrible about it. I need to charge into this new era — better. I am not a perfect person. That’s not what I am, but about this subject, about the real turmoil I’ve been in, I had to say that maybe people don’t know how to be there for someone who went through something that profound.

If I had had an inner circle, someone like me, even, just me — I would have been able to talk to someone, a close friend, and allowed the other relationships to be what they are. Except, then I go, and I’m the type of person who’s going to think it out with you, it would be hard to play pretend. That’s been a bit hard. I tried to express myself calmly and honestly in this letter…as, I’m the type of friend, who is going to reach out to you directly to address a problem.

I did this with one friend of mine and it was successful. We were able to re-establish our friendship. But with some of the others, I feel relieved, because I don’t know what to say “type wise.” We might not be the same type of person. Like, once again, I’m not telling my friend that she experienced implicit memory based on no real understanding of the story in question here.

And I said even to this friend of mine now that, the only thing I can hope for is that my story gets out there and I’ll be understood. Mel Robbin says live life as if it’s short, which I agree with. Not that it’s long. It’s short so go for it. That being said, I’m 40, I’m entering a new decade, and I’m hoping to find the life I always wanted.

Now, me, and I would have been this person at 30, even, funny enough, as I’ve been a friend to people in really tough situations. I’m going to say— it was just hard because of the whole event of it — “they will not understand.”

“Talk to me. Let’s get you the right psychologist. Let’s keep talking.” Also because as a lover of psychology, I’m sincerely interested in people’s experiences. “They will not understand. They will not contact you.” No one contacted me for a while. I mean with “how the hell are you?” I mean, now? If someone just got out of the hospital, I’m coming over with a bag, a weekender bag, and we’re going to work on safety.

I’m going to cook you food. We don’t have to talk at first. You’re NOT going abroad, don’t be stupid. It’s as if, even the mental health component in all this, wasn’t seen as real. “Don’t be ridiculous.” This guru telling me “it’s time to get on social media…” “is he deranged?”

These couple of gurus, right? The brothers who came into my life. That was a bad idea. So, the specialist is able to HOLD the complexity of the entire experience, not that one negates the other. He said that first, like I clearly got involved with problematic people, for me. Giving me channeler tapes. People with ideas that TRIGGERED me.

No more weirdos. No more crazy ideas. Whether it’s true or not, manifestation was not my problem. I had just gotten to LA, and my mindset was positive, and I went down an unnecessary road.

And the truth is — I really don’t know if that lie ends up being not a lie, and I do feel as though I am correct in my reading comprehension. The story doesn’t look good. I have every right to question what really happened there, and I have to navigate a friend circle that’s asking as if it’s not worthy of asking any direct questions about… or that I didn’t say what I did. Meaning, me? I’m responding partially because I know people do this. That people can’t handle it.

That’s why I intervened with the refugee who had been abused by two members of her family. I intervened directly. To give her a hand. I did not want her to feel ashamed. So I told her to take a minute. We didn’t need to discuss it. She didn’t need to say anything. She might want to give herself a moment to just get comfortable with someone knowing. And there, you know, I felt like my story actually meant something. Because, what a shameful disaster that was. And it tended to make someone feel more comfortable because they were talking to someone else out basically understood.

I could tell. I took my time, a bit, but I began watching her from afar, and she noticed. Just to tread lightly. We opened up that discussion from afar first. And when our mutual friend came up to me, and thought the same thing, we, as friends, talked about what we should do.

It was only us. He had a girlfriend who had come out of a situation like that.

But me, because I came out of a totally bonkers situation where “she lied,” although my family life had forever been complicated and messy and strange…it can’t be true, and I don’t need REAL people. I mean, people who can be real. But, I would have told myself, that it’s best to not fight — but I didn’t have me.

And I don’t know if I would have done. These were supposedly my close friends. With some, I’m trying to be let it be, and trying to just put this away, as I’ve mostly let it go, I mean, in terms of expecting any kind of follow through or anyone to be able to show up in the way that I am personally able to. I look forward to making a real go at it — meeting new people, wanting to host a thanksgiving even, you know what I mean? Where there’s a core group that revolves around me. I’m always going elsewhere.

I’m on the highway right now, having finished a letter to my friend, and we’ll see how or if she will respond. I have let it go, like, I said, I’m going to need to work out why my friends reacted the way they did to the question of abuse. Except, people can’t handle it. And I didn’t have a support system. I did not build that. Meaning, an immediate family. Family friends. A close group.

And if I had had that, I probably wouldn’t have gone through what I did… as I would not have ever been in a relationship with the gurus, because why? Why would I be there? And I would have already dealt with what I needed to as that past prevented me from really being able to live my life. I’m not the same person. I feel as though I just got here.

I look back, and I’m like, I’m sorry, who is that? Why am I getting involved with these people? Why am I going to NYU? Why am I dressing like that? I had no clue who that was. Literally. I don’t know what that means exactly, again, my actually family, meaning my parents, were real obstacles as they were both ill.

Again, I’ve said this, but I did not feel like “working out my intergenerational stuff” left me feeling elated. That was chaos. There seemed to be allure around me for some men, but also people. But, you see in reality, I mostly worked in restaurants though I’ve had other jobs.

I didn’t have direction, other than “living in France” for strange reasons. I felt “time bend,” I had an experience I couldn’t explain when I was young, and I decided what I was going to do with my life based on these weird possibly neurological events I had around the time my father was diagnosed with a disease.

But, it’s like anything else, who KNOWS if the diagnosis was even accurate? He ended up having Alzheimer’s, not Parkinson’s which was the original diagnosis that he kept a secret. On top of it. Like, THANKS. I was in a little sex scandal and now I gotta deal with this.

Like I get I was pretty…? Looking back on these men, and that I wanted to write but the guru went off on some impulsive tangent, thinking about his father’s impulsivity problems, as he slept with any woman who walked into an elevator — and look, Dr. J slept with every man, so I’m not exactly judging here, but he painted all over me before it was mérited.

Now I’m contending with my real life, the real decisions I’ve made, and it’s all fine, in that, I wasn’t interested in ambition, money, worldly pursuits — which I dismiss now as silly. But that’s what that was, and then I chose to write, and it took me down very dark roads, with men who were triggered “to help” someone who didn’t need help. I was perfectly capable of doing what it is I’m doing now…. With a small middle class inheritance that would have been worth double today if I just hadn’t touched it.

But of course these men are painting professor x pictures, lots of fantastical ideas such as “I’m psychic…” and “money doesn’t really matter,” because you can meditate it into existence, when it’s like, yeah, I could have not spent the money — and if I had met someone older and wiser I would have appreciated it actually, but instead I got someone who didn’t really see how much I HAD. He only saw my lack. As if I just got caught up in enabling directions.

I had money AKA power. Not the time to get obsessed with some book. Read books, like I’m doing now. I didn’t need to “download the complete book” from a future point. Anyway, I don’t have to work tonight, which means no money, but I have the night off so I’m going to enjoy it, work on my story and do some social planning. I want to meet someone.

Finally.

It’s very different when you feel like you are actually in the driver’s seat. And so, I hope that I can break into entertainment as that, for the moment, is the arena I want to enter. And I hope I am correct that my story might inspire screenplays. I might get there myself, but I gotta get there first. I love characters. I always have. I always felt better in taking in the whole beast, loving it, since I came from people I didn’t know what to do with.

I don’t know, sometimes I think I should pursue psychology, specialize in -— I don’t know how to articulate it — but scandals, extreme situations. I’d have to study, all that, but life is long in that regard. For the moment, I’d like to see if I can break into entertainment.

I thought miracle mile would make a really compelling motion picture. That it could spawn a TV show, even. It doesn’t have to adhere to the exact story. It can have a life of its own. “7th Heaven,” but this time it’s 9. It’s nine now. And it begins, hilariously, with a family getting wrapped up in a small child who…may be getting abused….a family of sports stars. Like what? And the mother goes insane, almost, but it’s understandable.

We’ll see, that’s what I’m aiming for, and I’m trying to connect with what might work as live entertainment too. There’s comedy in it, that I know, I just don’t know what that means yet. But I do feel like there’s a place for me. And hilariously — watching Ellen — and her “going through the steps of her life to get to this present stage…” as comedians tend to go through ups and downs. And just to get THERE, it’s like Forrest Gump. Like now, I’m sitting and eating a BOX of chocolates.

I went through all that, and now I’m here.

So I’m going to really go for it. I need to make a reel and fast. So I’ll call an acting coach, I think, to help me with picking scenes. I think that’s a good idea, just consulting someone who might be able to help me do what I need to. I need to get into an acting class so I can exercise. And I want to write my first short series that I can easily produce. And I’ll finish this short for EPIC, hoping that it will get in.

That’s it. Life. Feeling positive, even if the start of the decade required letting go…

Joy, my mother's name...

That was her name. Right now, it feels more like a joke as the entire story, at least the one on Miracle Mile, felt like one big cosmic joke, and I hope I am right, that this magazine I’m working so hard to get into will agree. Just the idea that this totally insane thing happened to me, and a Brazilian-Jewish family was wrapped up in all this. I don’t know where this short story is going yet, as I’m still figuring it out structurally — so it could end on “sex became good.” She was dancing the lambada on a plush white carpet in her holy white bedroom. I was four, coming to sit on the edge of her bed to watch her dance. I had no idea what the words meant. She translated it for me in her angel voice, this woman with the name “little angel” who walked into my life one day and changed it forever. “Now he’s gone away, the only one who ever made me cry.” I snapped. “But this is sad.”

I turned around the living room, as there was always a party, and I didn’t understand it. Everyone was so happy! Laughing, clapping, celebrating, I was so moved so young by the JOY in it. Maybe it began as a sad song, but it ended in an uproarious celebration. It’s southern American, in that, many of these songs are about heartbreak, but there’s rhythm and soul in it. If not, joy. As they were also Jewish, and the Jews attended these parties, of course they did, we honored Jewish holidays in adjacent rooms, ones full of sorrow, and being spared supernaturally. How did we even get out of that one?

But, Nicole, her youngest daughter in ruby slippers, she taught me the steps to the lambada at seven. “You have to learn…” her sweet voice. So sex became innocent in a way. And when I think about the investigation I conducted, there’s much to unpack there, so maybe some of my analysis of my mother can come later. As a final note. I don’t know yet. It doesn’t really matter what happened to me, “very very likely,” we’re all getting molested.

I was moved to discover that sex had a deeper meaning— it was the force that brought all these people into this room. It became good. And, in this room, I commune with the totality of the human experience in this room, where this mother becomes Shiva, even, the dance of fire: creation/destruction, a couplet, a mystery to me. I thought, all that has happened to a person. Unbelievable. What people have gone through. I didn’t see myself as different, special, or separate but rather a part of a whole, but as I went through my life, in the personal domain, I would be seen as this strange “other” person who happened to come from unusual circumstances. People even told me it didn’t happen, which, it did.

I hope, I do, just because I went through such an ordeal, and it hasn’t really let up yet, that the Gods will smile down upon me in my favor and that I’ll get this story out there, as I’ve come this far, even went through a near death experience, and the personal will reflect upon the political at the right angle. “How could my own do such a thing to me?” But if you think about it, project that idea into the political arena, we’re all human beings. That’s what I’m thinking about on my 40th birthday, though it’s technically the next day, and yes, I got through this so-called milestone. This story only caused me more problems. I’m telling you, it was a total nightmare.

I made new friends, said goodbye to old ones, as I went through heartache and confusion around how some people responded to the subject of abuse when I already came from this story.

I suppose that’s one of the areas in this story that I hope to work out and communicate around as I was shocked by people’s reactions and I had to make peace with it. So, some people didn’t contact me on my birthday, and you know what? It was a relief.

Finally, one friend I hardly talk to, she sent me a straightforward message of how I bring magic into the world, happy 40th. I got that in the end, she slipped it in.

My heart was so hurt, I was so hurt by how people reacted that it felt better to let them go. I can’t play patty cake baker’s man right now, that’s my joke. I can’t play “patty cake baker’s man.” Not when I can’t even look at a photo of my parents. I’m also mourning. I don’t know right now if that was a lie, as this woman just decided that it was based on nothing, and no, I’m not in the mood. I do not want to be ignored. If my friend told me that, I would not have responded like any of these people… more or less.

And I hope, I pray I do, that I’ll be understood on this level. But, I’m playing the “everything’s okay” game as much as I can. I’m moving on. I’m not expecting to get any support from anyone in my life. I’m trying not to attach to some future either, the day where “this story” comes out and…? Shocks the world? Interests the world? I say that because this Hollywood screenwriter behaved like that. As if THIS STORY could reach the big lights. It’s just, in that case, why not just make a phone call? You know what I mean? If HE was so desperately interested in it to the point that he’s going to meet me once a week, which was unnecessary… why not make a call?

I wasn’t asking for that, at all, but his approach in “helping me” was 100% about him. Anyway, I suppose I hope this story makes an impact. That’s basically where I’ve come to. I thought it would make a good motion picture, and I hope I’m right.

My friend Liz, the one that I’m spending this holiday with, she held my hand, she was tender with me. I don’t need to talk about it with her, but she treated me like what I said was REAL, and so, I appreciate her.

The thing is, I woke up and went — um, I’m in another family? Why? Why exactly? Looking at Liz’s partner— they, together, though mostly him, because he’s the cook prepared a sumptuous feast for her family, mostly. She went over to his parent’s house to pick up a smoker. This was the relationship I couldn’t figure out. I couldn’t do this. And now, now that I worked out so much, that’s the relationship I want, because that’s family, the one you make, the one who meets you.

Anyway, I’ve come out of 40th birthday feeling very positive. My whole world ended. It truly did. I needed someone like me, and I was nowhere to be found.

I thought I had worked out my past, but that turned out to not be true, even thinking about this relationship I got into with the guru, the plant people, my entire life approach. It was nonsensical. Sure, 500k could fall from the sky, sure, I could have bumped into Sam Mendes, I don’t know, some big time director who said, “you must be in my film,” I do not know how to approach myself as some people, the guru included, men, I should be specific, played a bit of a “star” act on me, that I was a star…in that way. I stood to benefit from THEIR wisdom, when I think my old psychologist would almost want me to wipe them off the face of the earth. Like, do not insult me.

Truly speaking.

Whatever, the point is, I didn’t walk into a hotel room, meet Lenny Kravitz, and launch a career. That did not happen. You know? Not to say that it couldn’t, meaning, a bit of magic couldn’t come into my life and direct me along, it’s just, that’s not what happened. It was the opposite. Just a cast of enablers.

I’m starting over… I worked out my life… my heart is broken, healing, feeling… for others. Probably, if I was supporting someone through this, “like, I believe you,” let’s just start there. If I had that, just that, it would have made my social fabric easier to deal with. But some of my friends made my life harder.

I haven’t told the refugee, of course not, the one I supported through her having been abused by two members of her family, and I most certainly didn’t forget what she said, loosen my grip, like I was there for her, for real. “It’s time to go therapy.” That one was a real fight. One I hope we will see in all its beauty, too, through the Jura countryside. “Bumblefuck,” in her opinion, as I taught her that word. She needed a funny, perfect word to describe where she’s from. “Bumblefuck.”

So I don’t know if I should go into some line of work related to all this, or what. But people’s responses were so crazy to me, generally, that I reached breaking points, for sure.

I’m going to try and reconnect with my joy, you know, this thing I had, and I’m swiping through Instagram wanting to kill everybody in my life…for giving me crap for living my life in a state of wonder, even, for acting as if something wondrous existed in like, every moment. Instagram says: live with wonder. Instagram says: beginners mindset. I chose joy. I tried to. I lost it. And now, I’m going to try and get it back. Except, I have to be careful, apparently, as it attracted “the dark side.”

I’m going to try and see how far I can go, I guess. I don’t know in which direction, as this lunatic guru confused me profoundly. Can’t meet someone at 40? Why not? Can’t meet your best friend at 40? Why not? Can’t reach success? Why not? Why not? Why not? So I’m taking a deep breath, and I’m going to have to hustle, a bit, to find a better job…and I’m still trying to figure out how to fulfill my greatest purpose, as Oprah suggested thinking about it like that, which should relate to fulfillment, and I lost all sense of purpose. And right now, I like entertainment as an arena. So I’m directing my arrow, and hoping, that all this feeling like I kept getting knocked down, like I wasn’t understood, will just be some line I give in a story… that you tend to hear in success stories. Like the story itself put me at a disadvantage, because, because, because.

Life is a series of choices.

I made choices based on where I came from.

And some of those were disrespected — like, my relationship to power as I hated it brought me power players. People do not respect vulnerability, not typically. I had to come to admit some things that are true about the real world, obviously, like, people in disadvantageous situations might be at risk…I was vulnerable, in a way I didn’t expect, and look, I think I am not a channeler, I don’t know why I ended up in this realm of thought… where people channel shit from outside sources when we might try connecting.

Anyway, I do feel good, today, about being 40. I feel good about having the license to let go as I came to wake up to my whole life. Time to work.

Black men continue to be the heroes of my life right now

Charles is lounging on the couch, he has been for several hours. He’s watching the longest documentary on American history I have ever seen. Complete with paintings of battles, people standing by as their lives are destroyed.

It began with the revolutionary war, that was the last time I walked outside with talk of soldiers coming through and SMASHING people’s property, taking their possessions. A map—France is coming.

This time, I walked out—and he hasn’t moved his body at all — and I believe we’re onto the Civil War now, as slavery was mentioned along with a black and white photograph of liberated man, I think, with a wheelbarrow of skeletons — the narrator in a flat tone spoke of raping women and hanging their husbands…

I think, people thought these four years I spent on Miracle Mile were unbelievable… and I sort of feel, sometimes, when you have a good idea, it just might develop, because it’s sort of really true. Black men have been encouraging me, specifically, to keep coming back to open mics, to forgo the comedy a sec, just keep talking… liking my singing videos… referencing things I’m listening or thinking about… randomly. Acknowleding my presence in Ubers, on the street, wishing me happy holidays… just like that, nothing more. No attachments. My Black roommate, male, is now watching this documentary… I just think it’s funny.

Hours…he’s spent hours watching American history, and every time I walk out, here’s a shocking, terrible thing someone did to someone else, though it’s not shocking, it’s like my mother putting on an outrageous performance for the priest, which is fair, but what about their "normal” act? It doesn’t have the same shock value, “how crazy,” um, yeah?

I don’t mention it in this short version of it, I won’t have to, but in the book that comes into the play, briefly, as I flipped out the older I got—just how much of my mother I saw in the world… racism, for example. A totally insane premise that becomes your fault. Homosexuality too, like, sex isn’t a crime, Catholics. I hated the Catholics. There’s nothing criminal about sex, molesting children, yes. And there’s Dr. J — rejecting sex, getting lude, flipping between the two.

Anyway that’s for later, but I appreciate Charles’ entrances and exits…

On my way to sing, can’t quite figure this out

So, okay, feeling depressed today but singing usually makes me feel better. I’m singing with Yaniv today, seems like a nice man, and I’m in the underground…running my lines for a scene class at Columbia for directors. I play a bunny. I understand why, Zootopia is so popular, as we’re all animals, or you can relate to the characters that way. I was cast as the wannabe cop bunny. A sweet animal, bunny, like don’t be mean to it.

I can’t quite figure this out, looking at notecards. I didn’t need to have the guru wrapped up in this story, so I’m trying to dismantle this person, as he wasn’t a support tool. That’s not what he was. Like I can feel his presence in these moments, not exactly a supportive.

Helps to state that.

Anyway, This is a story about how a girl who investigates a sex scandal she was in to then question everything she knew? Okay. Not so sure.

I have to break down these beats — my mother reflected so much truth, and when it came to rape but specifically child rape, since that’s what I was thinking about, like incest? What did she reflect about coming from one of “these stories?”

I have to take it step by step.

Like, my father said that all he knew about her was that she was “shipped around to different family members beginning when she was two because her sister beat her…” I couldn’t help but notice that I had been sent away, in a way, as this situation held fragments to her real past. Did the present situation reflect a real past? Why did she do this?

So that’s a scene. I was fascinated, just fascinated, I couldn’t look away, what was this game? Was that a lie, a cover up for something darker? Was there a real child molester, Dr. J once upon a time?

Because, when I was four, I knew what rape was. I had to conclude watching my mother teach me how to throw up (???) in a bathroom… like, I might have been four, but I had my wits, that she might have seriously been raped, younger than I was. I might not have been able to conceive of the details, but it didn’t look good.

She ran into church every Sunday accosting the priest with her rapes… and her theatrics discredited her, as she was almost TOO outrageous, but it was more, what she reflected about the subject that drove me to investigate it. In the words of my father, we were picking her up nightly for drinking, driving, and looking for sex downtown, which is when my father….decided to go on vacation for 5-7 weeks. Hm?

“Imagine?” Angelica Leibowitz said. “Imagine lying about that? About your own husband?” She was aghast. But wasn’t it already a lie? Wouldn’t it require lying?

Anyway, I always feel defeated, like I can’t do this. But like what’s clear to me right now is the middle - funny enough - like, once I get to the spectacles - the happy go lucky dances we put on for him - the spectacle of it becomes clear. She didn’t want to send me to foster care, and I mostly likely would have been abused there, so…? I saw so much truth in this story. It didn’t sound all that unbelievable to me.

So I might hover around that section of it.

So: I might try, my notecards:

  1. “She told me rape,” that scene at the club.

  2. I’m watching the game… the tennis game right now, basically saying that this situation opened up a door I could never unsee; psychology. So I launched an undercover investigation at not even nine years old.

  3. The first question I asked over and over again was “did I really live with you for four years?” And I was so young that I kept repeating the same questions, because I was D. J’s daughter, so I knew that people could change their stories. People are liars, aren’t they Dr.J?

  4. Can you describe what you said to her? As I had alerted her, and so she turned to my mother and offered that they would set up a playdate one day. “I did not mean this day.” And Dr. J pops like a jack in the box… and pulls a crazy move that makes her question if she’s joking…you never knew with her as she appears to crack on a particular line…

  5. she couldn’t even imagine someone lying about that, Angelica said, about your own husband?

  6. In my chair, I thought, eyes on the game? Isn’t it already a lie, Dr. J? Wouldn’t it require lying? Wouldn’t that fuck you up? Real bad? As she didn’t seem to posses distinctions…between lie and truth…

  7. My father - all he knew was that she was shipped around to different family members for the first ten years of her life… because her sister beat her, at two years old. Was that a lie, a cover up? I couldn’t help but notice that I had just been sent away in a way, as if this situation held fragments of a real past?

    Anyway, I’m done for today. I don’t know what to do with this yet but I’ll keep on going to the drawing board.

So I think I'm going to see Bugonia

I might concentrate on psychological genres a moment, as I really went through enough of them. You know, when it comes to the relationship I had with the Hollywood screenwriter, a man who was a New Age person sort of disgused as not one. He’s giving me “the Seth Books,” telling me to forget “the costume,” which is already problematic, because “the content is right…” and I don’t know if he were to, not to say I went to foster care, hand that book out to “people from divine births” as he told me, literally speaking, that my birth was divine because I was born to parents who were not there. He wasn’t not speaking figuratively. Danger. Fast forward to the end of my life, “it doesn’t matter what the rent is…” crushed, I got crushed. “Meditate on the time of day, your location, and repeat, plenty of money comes to me,” while I am in a shithole. And he’s going to say, “why are you doing that to yourself,” when his brother told me the same thing. When they were young, he took his hand, and this was told to me as if it were wise, and he started punching him with it, “why are you hurting yourself….” No, why are YOU hurting your own brother with HIS hand? And yet, what would his brother do, lie for his brother? Protect his assailant? You see what I’m saying? THAT’s who I got involved with. Not a benign character. An “evolved” meditator. It was the dark side of manifestation, the dark side of — using your mind as if it were a piece of tech that you could access to make magic feats happen. Not to say that, “you know, I happened to fall into some perfect line of logic where I showed up, and this happened, and then…” I just don’t know the utlity of getting obsessed with how things unfold in some META way.

That guy has dangerous beliefs, dangerous especially to me, someone who came from a complicated background, which I have the right to say. I have the right to say that what happened to me was unacceptable. He acts as though he’s not making decisions, like taking his brother’s hand and hitting him with it and blaming him? Disturbing. There might be something I can do with that relationship. That descent into madness, despair, where she doesn’t even know if she was abused, but based on… Jesus, I look back, and I can’t even believe it was possible. “They FEED YOU…” and picture Emma Stone, calling him, continuing to play his game, that “I wasn’t fed…?” And he doesn’t SEE his hand. Shoving that down my throat. Over a book draft! He evidently, based on his LEADING statements, believed I wasn’t fed or cared for properly, when I gave no indication of it. Sure, probably, I guess, but what in hell told him that vaguely suggesting this was a GOOD IDEA?

I can’t STOP talking about this asshole.

I used not be able to watch these types of movies, and now, I just might find solace in them. So I’m going to go see it. He was not a well man. He was fucked up, really fucked up. That was abusive. That was an ABUSE of power. And it almost killed me, this relationship. So—my anger is cosmic. I suppose that will dull in time. I don’t know how to begin putting that relationship in formal words, because, once again, he doesn’t SEE himself. YOU YOU YOU — when YOU started it. Meaning HIM. My heart, literally speaking, was in a state of agony for years. My literal heart. He hurt me worse than my own parents… and that’s with the potential sexual abuse in it. His “helping me” routine, unnecessary, a waste of time and space. And I’m going to keep talking about it, because that was insane. “The theme here in nourishment,” imagine? That’s what he said. When I said that I had met a guy—right???? — a chef. We were supposedly just friends, right? Though, um, someone had to talk to me as if I were a traumatized individual, which wasn’t fun, “that’s not a friend.” And my “I don’t know” persona was a coping mechanism, understandable. Don’t ACT, coming from my background, that I DON’T KNOW how people can treat you, but I think about the Epstein girls, and my heart goes out to them, because confronting my vulnerability and the pain of having been misused and abused by my parents… made me almost want to end my life. That I—yes, was vulnerable, yes. For real. I’m being so honest. What is the point of living? Now, I’m not being totally serious, but I have had my moments, for sure.

So yeah, I mention that I’m dating someone…? A chef, and isn’t it funny, I’ve dated ONE chef, before, people speak hyperbolically. I wouldn’t call it a theme, I would say, I love Food. Like, many many magazines exist about food and beverage! People love FOOD, restaurants, DRINKS. And this guru, in Beverly Hills, amazing, just amazing, he stops. Hands behind his back, guru-like, a teacher who has never taught anyone. “The theme here is nourishment.” And I’m acting like wondrous, what do you mean? You see, he’s manipulating my innocence… whether or not he UNDERSTOOD what HE WAS DOING to this degree of depth, is not my problem.

“I don’t know,” he said, brows raised………. trailing off…..as if he did know… he just couldn’t tell me. “I’m always feeding you…” he said, when, finally, when I got support around this lunatic, someone informed me. “Why the hell is this man speaking to you like this?!” I thought we had a recurring lunch date? “Feeding me?” Disgusting. It was disgusting that he enjoyed this. “I’m always feeding you…” a woman he remarked was vulnerable. Unbelievable. And he took advantage of that. I let him, sure, asshole. A classic male asshole. With superior feeling senses… a psychic, yes, though he KNOWS he can’t say that, he can’t be open about that. A smart man. Strange. Very strange. That was a mentally ill person, meaning, that person had issues—a personality disorder. ETHICS. What he did was unethical. He presented himself as a big shot writer with genius capacities if not supernatural.

So I’m going to see Bugonia, I’m going to cry, probably, and I’ll watch movies like that, that involve psychological journies. The boy in Whiplash practically dies… because he also admires this prodigal figure, the jazz conductor, and he gets caught… me, I felt as though I got caught up in a JAZZ orchestra yes, like, why does he think this? I’m not even in my desired arena? You see? He’s telling me I’m SPECIAL, while belittling me at the same time though HE believes that he is HOLDING ME UP, though I do not NEED this PRESSURE. He projected on me in such a way that would inspire an orchestra, and I — keep going back. Amazing. I mean, most of the people I know, once again, I’ve tried to talk to about this, they don’t even know what to say — AGAIN. Like, why do people do this to you?

Like, my friend is a Tony nominee, my other friend has been photographed by Annie Leibovitz, my other friend is a Tony Award winner. They did not have to deal with this shit, people exercising their power, because they were…talented? Which was not the deal here. I was SPECIAL. Do you understand how manipulative that is? I was special? How? So I deserved to be psycho analyzed over a lost DVD? I deserved to be insulted by some disgustingly, truly, emotional man shaking his hand at me on the street. “You cannot disappoint me,” over a LOST DVD, “you have my looovveeee…” I looked back on this relationship, like, BLOWN AWAY. He did this because I was special. HE TOLD ME, picture him taking his own brother’s hand, “that I WAS SPECIAL,” he then held me up after confusing me, “and he intended to keep his perspective…” what the hell was that? Script analysis. As if I didn’t KNOW I was special, over an I TANYA DVD? No way. That’s the type of behavior that friends are — intervening, no. Get the fuck away from that guy. Not HE, not HIM, not get away from her. ME, “why the fuck are you here, Maria?”

You see, I needed this person. “You’re not SEEING THIS…” it almost killed me. He doesn’t care, which was so like my mother, just her illness, her true insanity. And my father? Who knows, at this point… he was an abusive person… he’s going to in a sense take your own hand and HIT you with it. YOU’RE THE ONE DOING IT, you see, and in the “about” section of the movie, if you would, it’s ABOUT the age of disconnection. Someone who has no clue what a relationship is, and who is going to derive some sick pleasure… is HELPING a girl to the point of killing her.

“It’s a really good psychological device,” this fictional character in my draft. A man who hated me, in fact. But he’s going to BE RIGHT THERE EXACTLY WHEN I CALL NO MATTER THE TIME. HE’S GOING TO — GET OFF THE PHONE QUICKLY when I call. He’s going to weirdly psychically say, suggest, that “he was thinking about me…” when I called. He’s not going to SAY anything, really, but then, when he does talk, it’s going to be weird. Nightmare. Satan. He told me a fictional character in my draft was a “really good psychological device.” And HOW was that supposed to help me, at all? His brother was a bit looney, as well. Giving me channeler tapes. This guru, he’s ABOUT THE ENERGY. Cra—aa—zy. Imagine? The comedy? This man turned to me in Beverly Hills.

“What’s the central energetic frequency of this material…” about something I was writing. You’re “spinning it up,” the energy, “can you handle it?” I mean, truly speaking, what is he doing? I was panicking, I mean. YOU CAN REACH greatness through a book draft? When I was, literally, at step one someone who had never, not in my entire life, exhibited any… behavior like this, ever. Ever.

It’s NOT because I was repressed, asshole, as this man only inspires this sort of language. He disturbed me. I came from a background. Anyway, another day where I — can’t even believe this man, really. The first night I hung out with him, I tried to pay for my drink, as I wasn’t sure WHAT exactly had interested him about me… he didn’t ask me out on a date, or anything. And he said, I’m living in my sister’s attic, no, loft, and that he was better off than me. I wasn’t unfortunate.

He got triggered by my background, by me, as a vulnerable, feeling person. Someone who was remarkably vulnerable, someone remarkably kind, unaware, too, and he chose to become a guru… wanting to help me… though I did not need HELP. He did. He needed help. Psychological help. What he did was wrong. It was not okay at all. And that straight up ruined my life. SURE I DID IT, his obsession with ME being the ONE. He should look at that, and try on not being a weirdo. He was a total weirdo with a nice car.

Now, I remember once, I don’t even know how we got here, but “he gets laid,” he told me, as if he “goes out and gets laid…” from time to time…and I’m like, is that the way you speak to a LADY? I look back at this guy, and I go, I have no idea how I didn’t see what an ogre he was. A true ogre. Like, “good for you?”

Seeing an old friend today

I might just cry. What a terrible decade this has been. I still struggle with these men I met, these older men. This screenwriter in particular, I just look back and say, why? Why would you act like that? I didn’t need to be destroyed, as a person, as he acted as if he could see through me, that he had a better sense of where I came from than I did. It was god awful. And I get wrapped up in this person, unable to see straight. It was a decade of many ends, the end of me. And I grieve, I do, my birthday is coming up, all this, sorry, “jacking off” and “talk of bending reality” when I wish I didn’t spend the money I had, so I felt enabled to my doom. And there’s nothing I can do about it. He can just get away with it, and he has money, so he had nothing to lose. That’s hard. I didn’t need to be psychic, I didn’t have any problems with becoming a writer— he should have minded his own business, quite frankly. Hopefully, seeing an old friend with help me find myself again… because I wish I could take it all back. You can believe in bending reality, all this stuff, or manifesting, I don’t know. I didn’t have a problem with it. You shouldn’t go acting like a psychologist if you’re not! And now, yes, I wouldn’t let someone WALK all over me, and turn weekly lunch dates into some creepy “I’m feeding you” routine… but I struggle with where I am at, I do. I have moments where his memory feels like such slime, and I’m confronting my sheer normalcy. Forget the X-Men, I’m so psychic, routine that he even subscribed to, I was a PRETTY woman. And that’s how he treated me. I was just a nice-looking young woman who came from a bit of a past, and I’ve been shut down now by practically everyone I know… on that one. I am single, too, you know, and I’m just having an emotive moment this morning as the thought of seeing my old friend… has given me permission to feel.

I have trouble moving on, feeling like my life has any purpose, wishing I never became any kind of artist, as that brought me weird men who wanted to play games with me — for my benefit, imagine? And they painted pictures and projected all this special bullshit onto me, that…how was that supposed to help me? So I just feel wretched this morning, totally heartbroken. Heartbroken, across the board. I really went through a rude awakening…I didn’t see this cluster of otherworldly logic, like I am psychic, I can download the book from the future… and I honestly find this exercise really hard. And adopting the perspective, one of the guru’s phrases, that “I’m making this hard for myself on a META level,” look, I’m just looking at notecards, taking my time, wishing I hadn’t dedicated my entire life to this exercise. Because I’m getting jumped on by men, in particular, before I can even produce anything. It’s that the guru felt like he had a right to insert himself in my private affairs. That royally ruined me. I was ruined. And I start weeping again, not understanding WHY he did what he did. Like, a, I would have never have taken that course of action that he did, and if I were him on the other end of the line, later on, there’s no way…. there’s no way… I would have ever have just sat there on the phone. It’s as if he wanted to destroy me… he was not benign. That was the most terrible relationship I was ever in.

And why? Why would he get involved in my life? But this person is just going to get away with it… I lost everything. So that hurts. That story only hurt me. Like go away, can’t you find someone on Craiglist to “teach?” And now, now that I’m a little older, I’m weeping, because it’s like, “oh okay, I was a pretty woman?” That’s why you did that? Like I can’t help what I look like. I thought there was the seeds of something in that terrible situation I was in, but it brought me more pain and insanity, I mean, just the weirdest people, than it was worth. I wish I became a lawyer, or thought about directing that experience elsewhere. And I just want to meet someone who actually loves me, normally, who wants to date, normally, who would never turn me into a “pupil…” I mean, why would you do that to someone? That was not friendly. At all. That was not a friend. That was an ogre.

And I am pretty much past the horrific logic I absorbed from this person, where I’m just here, again, in the present moment. No problems. No problems with the future. No problems, please. And I think, wow, terrible things happen to perfectly nice people… I just mean, you can get into terrible relationships, get crushed, spit out, and no one cares. I mean, not knowing if I was abused somewhere, that’s been a earthshattering revelation, no one hears me. I’ll get another job soon, I just didn’t need to be in this position, and it was actually super simple. Don’t spend the money you have. Forget being able to wave a magic wand… and make money appear out of thin air. What’s the point of living like that? And I look at this person in my mind, like, I CAME FROM A BACKGROUND. A REAL ONE. So don’t give me some ROUTINE as some so-called psychology expert. This person was, on that level, off. I did not deserve that. I struggle to let that go because he was so inappropriate at the start, first night, and I didn’t see it… and I started going down a road that totally ruined me… and it feels as though it was BECAUSE this man was attracted to me, I don’t know, I just don’t know why he would do that to some RANDOM girl.

My mind was a mess.

I have to go back to work, but I didn’t think I would ever feel this way, I never thought I could. You shouldn’t say “feeling your feelings” to someone like that. He said all sorts of vague things to me. I was a well-adjusted person, though I had problems, clearly, I didn’t see HIM, but I wasn’t in need of being manipulated out of existence, or turned into a Lifetime movie meets the Hero’s Journey. I keep writing these lines, hoping to reach someone, or alert someone he knows…we know. I wrote his sister, I wrote my old head of school, I doubt they check their messages, and honestly, I can’t even talk about it. I wrote my friend that introduced me to him, I can’t even talk to her. It was a heartbreaking insult, he insulted me. His brother told me that I was psychic within 20 minutes of meeting me… for no reason!

I do not subscribe. I do not agree.

So I have to move on… I do… I just suffer, still, that I feel so ordinary, even, like there’s nothing that special about me. I mean, in the real. Not like I can’t go “be special,” it’s just, what does that even mean? You know? I wish I just saw myself as pretty, but it’s beyond that, a woman. And, um, there are men… who…you gotta watch out for… they don’t care that you’re a person. That’s not what they are seeing, and that one, coming from the background that I did, that one was hard. You can’t get too starry-eyed, as to why is this man acting like this? It’s time to leave. Anyway, I keep hoping, I do, a classic, I don’t even want to be told that hope isn’t… the best way to manifest because x, y, z. I mean, I can’t keep up with this shit.

I’m hoping I can turn this around. I would like to be able to retire. I’d like to be able to share my life with someone. That’s basically it. Deep breath. Back to work.